Adventuring With Lydia
by HAQ
Summary: A collection of some very silly stories featuring the bumblings and fumblings of two budding adventurers, Mirileth and Lydia. Basically, "how much can a ridiculously silly Dragonborn annoy and exasperate her housecarl?"
1. Dragonborn, Twitches, & Butterflies

_Author's Note: __Guaranteed 99% silly._

* * *

_**Chapter I:**_

_**Dragonborn, Twitches & Butterflies.**_

Every step they took left marks in the snow. On long journeys, Lydia liked to distract herself from the aches in her arms and back by stepping in her companions tracks, leaving a much larger mark. She had been counting their steps since they left the Nordic ruin, and was currently on step number fifty-three thousand, two hundred and ninety-four.

Normally, she could rely on Mirileth to lighten the mood (that is, talk incessantly), but it seemed that the icy winds had a silencing effect on her. Then again, perhaps that was a good thing.

"Lydi-aaaa," a voice sang.

_Fifty three thousand, two hundred and―_the footsteps in front of her stopped, and Lydia looked up at the sound of her name.

"Yes, my thane?"

Mirileth puffed her chest out proudly at being called 'thane'. She had only been given the title a few weeks ago, and still felt rather excited whenever she was reminded that she was now someone respected and important. A wonderful boost for her ego, sure, but it manifested in a rather cringe-worthy effect on her speech.

"Well, as it so happens, honourable housecarl," Mirileth began, in what she perceived as an elaborate and elite accent, "this thane is feeling exceptionally tired in and around the leg area, and requires immediate help_―_no, wait,_ assistance__―_henceforth from her honourable housecarl... thusly."

"I'm not carrying you."

Mirileth's red pigtails seemed to droop. "But, Lydia," she whined. "I'm _tired_. Isn't there some kind of shout that could let me teleport, or something?"

Lydia shrugged her armoured shoulders. "How would I know? You're the Dragonborn."

Mirileth's chest puffed up again, and she placed her hands on her hips. "I am, aren't I?"

She looked out into the distance, where a group of mountains protruded through the thick blanket of snow. "What a gift. What a _burden_. What strength of spirit it demands!"

Mirileth looked back at Lydia with a determined, dramatic look. "These feeble aches and pains are no match for the Dragonborn. Onward, Lydia!"

And with that, Mirileth took off running, her awkward steps forcing the snow to part and spray everywhere. With her pigtails streaming behind her, and her shield clattering loudly against her back, she looked like the most conspicuous creature to ever traverse Skyrim's snowfields.

Somewhere, there was a researcher stooped behind a rock, writing of the strange and wonderful beasts they saw. "An elegant snow leopard, barely visible as it crawls through the thick white blankets. A pack of wild ice wolves, poised as they close in around a helpless fox. And a curious red-headed troll, ploughing through the snow like some ungainly drunkard."

With a short, breathless laugh that lay somewhere between amusement and exasperation, Lydia re-hoisted her pack over her shoulders. She went to take another step, then sighed as a realization dawned over her.

_One, two, three_...

* * *

"I always know when you're lying, Miri."

"I'm not lying! And what happened to 'my thane'?"

"I didn't say you were," Lydia replied, ignoring Mirileth's other comment. "Just that I know when you do."

Even without her bulky armour on, Mirileth thought Lydia looked just as intimidating. Especially in this light, with the glow of the fire lighting up her dark eyes that seemed to be lined with constant disapproval.

"_That's_ a lie."

"Your ears give you away. They twitch."

"What?" Mirileth cried, hands going to her dark, pointed ears. "They do not!"

"They do."

"Oh yeah?" Mirileth said defiantly, moving her hands away. "Ask me a question."

"Alright," Lydia said, folding her arms across her chest. "What's your name?"

"Mirileth," she replied proudly, ears untwitching, "Thane of Whiterun, Protector of the People, Fearless Dragonborn and—"

"Do you like sweetrolls?"

Mirileth paled, but her ears were still. "Yes, I like sweetrolls."

"Have you eaten a sweetroll recently?"

"Yes," Mirileth replied, barely audible.

Lydia leaned forward. "Did you eat the last sweetroll?"

Mirileth pursed her lips, but her ears were already twitching. "No."

"A-ha!" Lydia cried triumphantly.

"It's not my fault!" Mirileth protested, throwing her hands in the air. "They taste so good, and I was so hungry, and—"

"No excuses," Lydia interrupted, raising one hand. "You're fetching the wood. The fire's almost out."

"But Lydia..."

"Go."

Mirileth grumbled to her feet and stomped off, muttering, "I hate you."

Lydia looked over her shoulder. "But do you really?"

"_Yes_!" Mirileth called, back still turned.

"I can see your ears twitching," Lydia called back. "What do you_ really_ think of me?"

Mirileth stopped and whirled around with a childish look of contempt.

After a pause, her face screwed up and she yelled, "You're my best friend in the whole world and I love you—shut up!"

Then, she clapped her hands over her statuesque ears and ran off before Lydia could say another word.

* * *

"Miri?"

"Shh! _Don't move_."

Lydia paused and tried to look over Mirileth's shoulder. The dark elf was currently bent down over a rock.

"What are you looking at?"

"Shhh!"

Lydia rolled her eyes, but remained silent. After a few moments, Mirileth slowly turned to her with a big smile on her face.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Mirileth cooed, eyes fixed on the brightly coloured butterfly perched atop her finger.

Lydia raised a brow. "Uh, sure. Orange and black, with delicate white spots on its wing tips. You see those all over—_Gods_ _Miri, what are you doing_!?"

"Hmm?" Mirileth mumbled innocently, teeth already grinding up the butterfly into tiny, insignificant pieces. "Mmm... you know, I think I could use these in healing potions."

Lydia's mouth hung open. "How could—do you know what you just—Gods, Mirileth, _why_?"

Mirileth looked at her as though it were obvious. "It's a harsh world, Lydia. If not me, then something else would have killed it."

"That's not what you said about the _giant bear_ that attacked us yesterday!"

Mirileth managed to look horrified whilst licking the butterfly remains off of her fingers. "We couldn't just_ kill_ her—she was only trying to protect her cubs!"

"Divines," Lydia mumbled, burying her face into her palms, "help me."

After a pause, she heard rustling noises, than a sharp intake of breath.

She felt a hand rocking her shoulder. "Look, Lydia, look!"

Lydia moved her hands away, and Mirileth's excited face came into view. She followed the Dunmer's pointed arm, and saw something flickering close to the nearby river.

"A dragonfly!" Mirileth announced excitedly, taking a step toward the creature.

Lydia caught Mirileth's arm before she could take off. "Miri—_no_."


	2. Leaves, Apples, & Fireflies

_Author's note: Guaranteed __1% actual substance and meaningfulness._

* * *

_**Chapter II: **_

_**Leaves, Apples & Fireflies.**_

In stark contrast to the hazy blue and grey landscapes that covered most of Skyrim, the forests of the Rift were rainbows of warm colours. Especially for visitors unaccustomed to the cold, it was a generally warmer and more pleasant place to be.

"Oh, I thought I'd never see the sun again!"

"Don't be so dramatic. The sun still shines in the cold—it just hides behind the clouds sometimes."

"I will never underestimate you again, dear glowing orb!" Mirileth cried, holding her arms up to the sun as if she could hug it.

Lydia just rolled her eyes.

With a sigh of happy contentment, Mirileth lowered her arms and turned her gaze elsewhere. She spotted a pile of auburn leaves and made her way over to it.

Before Lydia could ask, "What are you doing now?", Mirileth had jumped backwards into the pile. The red and yellow masses enveloped her, and the elf laughed giddily as she kicked and threw handfulls of leaves into the air. As they rained back on top of her, Mirileth's grin grew wider and wider, and Lydia's patience grew thinner and thinner.

After a few rustles and heaves, Mirileth turned on her side to peek at her housecarl. Lydia was standing several paces away, arms crossed and wearing a painfully tired expression on her young face.

"It's fun," Mirileth explained.

"I wasn't asking."

"Why don't you join me?"

Lydia snorted. "Because I'm not a five year old child."

Mirileth only smiled wider. "So you used to do this when you were younger?"

Lydia opened her mouth in surprise, then shrugged her shoulders. "I... yes. Me and my family used to come here in the warmer seasons. We... would pick apples."

Rustling ensued as Mirileth leaned forward. "Really? That sounds wonderful."

Lydia smiled and let her arms fall to her sides. "It was. I wasn't tall enough to reach them, so my Ma would have to lift me up on her shoulders. But now..."

She looked around. "Actually, it would have been around this time of year. And we're not far from the orchards. Do you want to—"

"You had me at 'apple pie'!"

Lydia just looked at her. Finally, she said, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

With a sigh, she turned on her heel and began leading the way.

"Wait!" the elf called, holding out her arms, still nestled amongst the pile of leaves. "Help me up."

* * *

The nostalgia was bittersweet; it always was. When the memory first hits, the happiness and echo of past excitement embraces you like a kind old friend. And then comes the ache, the longing to really be there, to climb back into the past, back into her mother's arms and father's smiles...

"Lydi-aaaa," a voice sang.

Lydia blinked as the memory slipped away. She swallowed the lump in her throat as images of the present took precedence in her mind once again.

Mirileth was standing underneath a tree, frustration clouding her usually carefree features. Her sword and shield rested against the tree's dark, twisted trunk, covered in specks of dirt.

The elf abandoned her attempt at patiently waiting for her friend, and jumped upwards in search of her target. Her fingertips barely grazed an apple hanging from the branch and then she fell back down, landing awkwardly and spraying even more dirt over her weapons.

Lydia smiled as she approached her friend. "Can't you reach them?"

Mirileth looked at her, lips pressed together stubbornly. "Of course I can reach them. It's just... my boots. They're heavy, so it's weighing me down. Otherwise, I could reach them no problem."

"I see," Lydia replied, smiling. "Why don't you just go over to a different tree?"

Mirileth looked at her crossly. "Because I want _these_ apples."

"You're such a child."

"I am not, I just—" Mirileth began, but turned her gaze back to the tree as she attempted another leap. She missed entirely, and landed flat on her backside.

Lydia was barely able to contain her laughter while the elf groaned and rolled onto her knees, rubbing at her tailbone. Lydia removed her weapons, pack and gloves, and set them down beside Mirileth's.

"Do you want me to get them down for you?" Lydia asked, offering her friend a hand.

"No," she replied as Lydia pulled her to her feet, "I can do it myself."

"Are you sure?" Lydia said, and lifted a hand upwards. She gave a little jump, and touched the dangling fruit easily.

Mirileth looked up at her jealously; she was tall among Dunmer, but that meant little standing next to a Nord who was easily a head taller.

The elf pouted. "Pick me up."

Lydia gave a start. "What? No way."

"Pleeease?" Mirileth whined, eyes glistening. It was strange; her features, when picked apart, had absolutely no reason to appear endearing or benign. The dark elves were synonymous with severity, and with them their dark ash-skin, red eyes, strong brows, and pointed faces.

And yet here was Mirileth, looking every bit the part of a wide-eyed child. Maybe it was the pigtails.

Lydia wondered if this was how she would have looked to her mother all those years ago.

She sighed. "Ugh, fine."

The elf squealed with glee and ran behind her companion. Without any sort of warning, she began clambering up Lydia's back, and in a matter of seconds, they had transformed into a teetering amalgam of sprawling arms and legs.

"Miri! I wasn't ready—"

"Hold still—"

"Don't just—ow!"

"I've almost got up—"

"Idiot! We're going to fall—"

"There!" Mirileth announced happily, having swung her legs over Lydia's shoulders.

"Are you_ insane_?" Lydia cried, but clapped her hands over the elf's legs when they were in danger of toppling.

"Of course not," Mirileth replied cheerfully, patting Lydia's head. "Now, bring me over to those apples, my valiant steed."

"I'm not your horse," Lydia griped, but decided it was best to get this over and done with. Their wobbly scuffle had sent them a few paces away, so she walked tentatively back to the tree, watching for any rock or twig that might trip them.

"Halt, steed!" Mirileth commanded, and Lydia grumbled something as they came to a stop beside the tree. Grin plastered back on her face, Mirileth began picking apples and balancing them in a one-armed basket. The branch soon radiated with the force of Mirileth's plucking.

"Lydia?" the elf asked suddenly, tone thoughtful.

Lydia did her best to look up. "Hm?"

"Does anyone own these apples?"

"Yeah," Lydia replied, adjusting her grip on Mirileth's legs. "A couple of local farmers. They won't mind if we pick a few—at least, they never did before."

"Hmm!" Mirileth mumbled, though Lydia had a feeling she wasn't really listening. "Do you think we could grow a few trees ourselves?"

"No. Apparently they're really hard to grow. The apples come out tasting awful unless you do it right, and _you_ don't have the time or patience to nurse trees."

"Oh," Mirileth mumbled sadly, but brightened again soon enough. "Well, that just means we have to pick as many apples as we can. Onward to the next tree, valiant steed!"

"Hey, watch it!" Lydia said, pushing apart Mirileth's knees which had begun to tighten around her neck. After a moment, she mumbled, "I hope I wasn't half as annoying as _you_ when I was a child."

Mirileth looked down. "Did you say something?"

* * *

The sun had begun its descent, and now, only its reddish tail was peeking out over the horizon. It was a warm night for a change; they almost didn't need the fire.

"Today was fun," Mirileth declared, leaning back against her palms.

"Maybe for _you_," Lydia replied with a groan, resting her elbows on her knees. "My shoulders feel like they're on fire."

"Oh. Was I heavy?"

"Well, no. Not compared to the armour and loot you make me lug around every other day. But unlike you, the armour doesn't shuffle around and try to choke me."

Mirileth grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

Lydia went to say something, but to her surprise, a smile crept its way onto her face. "It's okay."

Mirileth smiled back at her, then inhaled deeply. She wanted to take it all in; the hearty smoke of the fire, the warm, gentle breeze, the stars glittering above them... and... in front of them?

She looked around in surprise. More little lights were appearing and filling the woodlands with delicate glowing spots. Mirileth turned to Lydia, but the Nord was already on her feet and inspecting their surroundings with a careful glare.

"Are they," Lydia murmured, her expression softening, "fireflies?"

Mirileth pushed herself to her feet and moved to Lydia's side. Her eyes filled with delight as the glowing insects moved toward them.

"They look like floating stars," she whispered.

"They're beautiful," Lydia agreed.

As the fireflies moved closer, perhaps attracted to the fire's light, Mirileth moved to greet them. The closest firefly flitted away, as if bashful at the approach, before moving closer again. It came to a resting hover not far from Mirileth's outstretched fingers, and the elf decided to seize the opportunity.

Her dark hands clapped around the firefly, and she giggled in delight when it became apparent her capture was successful.

"I caught a star!" she exclaimed, laughing giddily.

Lydia had to laugh. "So you have."

Mirileth grinned and held her cupped hands up to her face. Slivers of the insect's glow escaped through her fingers, illuminating the elf's smile.

And before Lydia could realise what was happening, Mirileth was already happily crunching away on the poor firefly's remains.

"I wonder why they're called fire—_crunch_—flies. It's not like they're really on fire, are they?" Mirileth mused, while Lydia died a little inside. Again.


	3. Burdens, Bones, & Boredom

_Author's Note: Thanks for the lovely comments, everyone. Unfortunately, I need to keep to this shortish-story format in order to write anything at all, because otherwise I become bored and dissatisfied too quickly. And even then, I'm hardly the most consistent updater (I'm sorry!)._

_I'm sure that will have no bearing on my future career as an author though, right? ...Right?_

* * *

_**Chapter III:**_

_**Burdens, Bones, & Boredom.**_

They had been victorious, once again. Lydia honestly didn't know how they ever managed; Mirileth was about as inspiring in battle as she was out. Which was to say, not at all. The elf was probably the most graceless and awkward warrior Lydia had ever seen, and what she lacked in skill and rhythm, she made up for with mortifying enthusiasm and energy.

Her footwork was terrible, she was always off-balance, she carried her sword in her non-preferred hand (which Mirileth assured Lydia was the_ proper_ way to do it), and swung with the wild subtlety of an enraged troll. Her hit-to-miss ratio was probably about 1-10, but that didn't stop her; the girl had seemingly endless stamina.

Somehow though, Mirileth always came out on top, and Lydia was actually glad to be—

"Lydi-aaaa," a voice sang.

Lydia shook her head and looked up. Mirileth was staring at her helplessly, wrestling with the huge bundle of weapons in her arms.

"Can you help me carry a few of these?" she gasped, teetering on the spot.

"Are you kidding me?" Lydia replied, her own arms full with books and potions. "I've got no hands, and my pack's already full of armour and gems."

"But mine's full too!" Mirileth whined, scrunching her face up. She went to say something else, but as she took a step toward Lydia, one of the battleaxes slid from her arms.

"Ack!" she cried, leaping out of the way, but the sudden movement dislodged the rest of the weapons balancing in her arms. In what was possibly the least dexterous series of dodges ever displayed in Nirn's history, Mirileth somehow managed to avoid the weapons as they clattered to the ground.

"Be _careful_!" Lydia chided, walking towards Mirileth. "You can't take _all_ of those."

Mirileth brushed herself off and pursed her lips. "Why not?"

"Ugh. Why don't you grab a few and come back for the rest another day?"

"I'd rather _die_," Mirileth said gravely, "than make _two trips_."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Then just take the ones that look the most valuable. See, you can leave this one..."

The Nord walked over and tapped an ancient-looking axe with her foot. "It's too old and rusted to fetch a good—"

"Lydia!" Mirileth gasped, running over and pushing her housecarl out of the way. She picked up the axe and hugged it to her chest. "Don't you listen to her, Sirrah Pointy. You're just as good as any other axe..."

"Oh, for the love of..."

"I'll bring you to Adrianne. She's a blacksmith in Whiterun. You're going to love it there, Sirrah Pointy. She'll polish you up, give you a little sharpen, find you a new owner. You deserve nothing less."

Lydia started grinding her teeth. "Fine. Take. The. Stupid. Axe. Let's. Just. Go."

Mirileth turned to look at Lydia, cradling the axe in her arms. "His name is _Sirrah Pointy_."

"I will kill you."

Mirileth pouted. "You always say that, but I know you love me too much to ever do it."

"If you don't start walking out of this cave in five seconds, I'm going to start dropping potions."

"You wouldn't!" Mirileth gasped, eyes widening. "Not Lord Heal-a-lot—or _Madame-Purple-Poison_!?"

"One."

"But I haven't decided! I can't just choose—I'm not heartless and vain like _you_!"

"Three."

"Hey, you just skipped two! That's not fair!"

"Four."

"No, wait! I haven't, I don't know which ones to—"

"Fi—"

"**Fus Ro_ Dah_**!"

A hurtling wind, clattering, a loud_ thump_, and then silence. Mirileth's breathing grew louder and heavier, but she was unable to move.

_She had panicked, that was all. She hadn't mean to do that. But what if... what if Lydia..._

Finally, her foot skitted forwards.

"Lydia?" she called out tentatively.

* * *

"_Whoa_, Mirileth. What happened?"

Mirileth looked at Hulda with a weak smile as she practically collapsed onto a bar stool.

The Dunmer rested her bandaged and sling-fastened right arm on the bench with a wince, then turned to the worried barkeeper.

"The most terrible fight," she began, shaking her head as though the memory pained her. "I barely escaped with my life. A horrible creature, half-hagraven, half-troll, attacked a group of helpless children. I managed to slay the beast, but not before it gave me—"

A sudden knock to her head interrupted her, and Mirileth howled in pain.

"Keep that up, and I'll break the other one, too."

Mirileth cringed and turned around slowly, rubbing her head with her uninjured arm. "Oh, Lydia! I was just telling Hulda about how much I respect and admire y—"

"Give me a mug of ale, Hulda," Lydia grumbled, hobbling over with her bandaged leg and crutch. She moved into the far right seat, away from Mirileth, then called out, "Actually, make it three."

"Coming right up," Hulda replied, a knowing look on her face.

Mirileth got right to her feet and sat down next to Lydia. The Nord's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

"So—"

"I don't want to talk to you."

Mirileth huffed and went to cross her arms, then yelped when her broken arm burned furiously in protest.

She gritted her teeth and turned to look at Lydia. "Look, I'm really—"

"Don't. Want. To talk."

Mirileth's shoulders slumped forward and she closed her mouth.

"Here's your ale," Hulda said, setting down three sloshy, brown, liquid-filled mugs on the bar in front of Lydia.

"Ta," Lydia mumbled, taking a generous gulp.

"And here's your apple juice," Hulda continued, plopping down a modest-sized cup in front of Mirileth.

"But I didn't..." Mirileth began, surprised. "How did you know?"

"That's your drink, isn't it? Still can't believe you like the stuff," Hulda said, grabbing a rag and scrubbing at a dirty plate. "You're the only one that buys it. Was made by that insane inventor. Fella said it would be the drink that changed the world. Investing was the worst decision I've ever made."

Mirileth blinked in surprise, then grinned happily. "It's good stuff. Really nice and sweet."

Hulda laughed. "Yeah, it's even too sweet for the _kids_ 'round here. You'd think it had no ale in it, or something. Divines, girl, you must have the biggest sweet tooth we've ever known. Ain't that right, Lydia?"

Lydia looked up from glaring at her mug. "Hunh?"

"Your girl, Mirileth. Got the biggest sweet tooth in all of Nirn, eh?"

Lydia shrugged, avoiding Mirileth's eyes. "I guess."

The elf's ears actually drooped. Mirileth looked down at the bench with a deflated frown, then began to sip at her drink.

Lydia turned ever-so-slightly to peek at her thane, and spotted a dribble of liquid making its way down her chin. She almost said something, but the elf finally noticed the dribble, and wiped at it with her sleeve.

After a minute of silence, a series of grunts and muffled cries started coming from Mirileth's direction. Lydia looked over in surprise to see the elf fidgeting with her glowing hands. One was held near her wound, and the other was trying to bend backwards towards her bandage.

"What are you _doing_?" Lydia asked.

Mirileth looked at her, then back at her hand. "Trying... to... heal..."

"Why don't you just use your other hand?"

"I'm not a good... healer. I need both for it to... work."

"Of course," Lydia muttered bitterly. "Why would you be competent at anything?"

But Mirileth didn't hear her. "Danica said our bones were broken... that it would take weeks for them to heal, even with her magic. Maybe I can speed it up."

Several cries later, and the sound was beginning to grate on Lydia's nerves. Finally, she growled, "Would you stop it, already? You're only going to make it worse."

The look Mirileth gave her actually made Lydia pause. It was fierce, worried, upset, and strangest of all, serious.

"I can't just sit around and wait. People need my help. I was supposed to protect Riverwood. There's going to be a bandit attack in two days, remember? What if—" Mirileth said, but her voice caught. Her eyes glistened as she took a deep breath. "What if someone _dies_ because—"

"Mirileth," Lydia interrupted softly. "Nobody's going to die. I already sent word to the guards to station more men there. And the Companions can take up your other duties while you're injured."

Mirileth looked away and wiped at her eyes roughly. "And what if something happens? What if a dragon comes? This is my job. It should be me out there." Her voice was muffled against her sleeve.

Lydia extended her hand, but decided against touching Mirileth's bandaged shoulder. "Nothing will happen, Miri. It's only for a little while."

The dark elf said nothing. Her body radiated with the force of a sob that had been held in.

"I... I'm sorry, my thane. It's my fault your arm's broken."

Mirileth forced her throat to clear. "S'okay."

There was the sound of some shuffling, but Mirileth still refused to look over.

"When I tackled you, I honestly thought you could take it," Lydia said. Suddenly, Mirileth felt an arm coming over her left shoulder. "But you're surprisingly squishy."

"I am not," Mirileth protested, making one last hasty attempt to scrub her face clean of tears. Soon enough, she could feel the warmth of Lydia's body pressed against her back. "It's not my fault you weigh as much as a mammoth."

She cringed, expecting Lydia to hit her.

But no blow came. "Actually, it is," Lydia replied, jovially enough. "_You're_ the one who makes me lug around an inhuman amount of baggage, after all. Guess you finally learned how heavy your burdens are."

Mirileth sniffed, then laughed sheepishly. She clapped a hand over Lydia's arm, and relaxed into the embrace.

"Thanks, Lydia. And... sorry, too."

Lydia gave Mirileth's head a little bonk with her own. "Don't worry about it."

* * *

The pair were sitting in a snug armchair, reading '_Mixed Unit Tactics_' while a modest fire crackled symphonies in the background. Well, Lydia was reading—Mirileth had decided to perch herself on one of the chair's arms and_ pretend_ to read.

After a few moments of silence, Mirileth grew weary of the lack of attention.

"I'm so _bored_!" she groaned.

"I know. You've said that eighteen times in the last hour," Lydia replied, turning the page.

"Because I'm _so bored_..."

"..."

"Lydia, did you hear me? I said I'm—_ow_! Hey, that was my bad arm!"

"Sorry. But also, not sorry."

Mirileth rubbed carefully at the bandage. "How can you just sit there and _read_?"

"Well, I can't exactly stand in my condition."

"You know what I mean. Books are so... so..."

"Beyond your ability to comprehend?" Lydia asked, then sighed when she lost her place on the page. "If you had the patience to sit still and read a while, you might learn something."

Mirileth's face screwed up in displeasure, and she slid off the chair.

"I'm a woman of _action_," she explained, clenching her fist in the air. "Besides, there's never enough pictures."

"Divines..." the Nord muttered, setting the book down on her lap and massaging her temples. "Remind me why I agreed to be your housecarl?"

"I..." Mirileth began, then tilted her head. "Actually, why _did_ you agree? You didn't even know anything about me."

Lydia blinked, then shrugged her shoulders. "I knew you had served Whiterun, and I knew Jarl Balgruuf. I had been under his service for years, and knew him as a good and honourable man. Becoming a housecarl meant ensuring the protection of someone important to him, and Whiterun."

Mirileth frowned, still uncomfortable with the idea. "But weren't you worried that you could end up spending your life protecting some greedy, heartless mercenary, or something?"

Lydia tapped the book in her lap thoughtfully. "A little. But I knew the Jarl would not bestow the title of Thane upon just anyone. I knew he would choose someone noble and strong, and... why are you looking at me that?"

"You think I'm noble and strong?" Mirileth asked, a teasing smile on her lips.

"What?" Lydia repeated, then scoffed and shook her head. "No, I meant... I was just saying—he wasn't going to assign me to some _madman_. And, well, you're not a total _madman_, so..."

"You _do_ love me!" Mirileth cried adoringly.

Lydia snorted. "I do n—"

But the grinning Mirileth had already lifted off into an unstoppable jump-hug, and the resulting collision held enough force to tip the armchair over. The short trip down was accompanied by cries of pain as the pair's respective injuries bashed against each other's flailing limbs.

Moments later, both women were sprawled out on the floor, writhing in agony, and soon, they were reduced to neat piles of sweat and groans.

"Your love," Mirileth gasped, rolling onto her back, "hurts."


End file.
